Song for the Asking
by Prieda Solo
Summary: Three sonfics for three of the Marauders Peter, Sirius, Remus. There is much, much more fic than song, and you do not need to have read the songs. Contains angst and flashbacks. Still not AU, even after DH!
1. Peter

Disclaimer: The characters in this story are the property of J.K Rowling and Warner Bros. The song is by Paul Simon. No copyright infringment is intended and I make no money from this.

Peter: Slip-Sliding away

_Slip-sliding away._

_Slip-sliding away_

The rat ran, as fast and as far as he could. Scurrying through the long grass trying to get away from the howls, barks and screams coming from behind him.

He veered desperately when he reached the lake, how long before he was away from the influence of the castle and was able to disapparate? He needed to get away, and fast, while Black was still busy with the werewolf.

He still wasn't sure what exactly had happened. At the beginning of the year he'd been in a comfortable position, good home, well-fed, maybe neglected somewhat but otherwise very well set up in life for a rat. Now, after the most stressful year of his entire life, he was on the run with nowhere to hide.

_You know the nearer your destination _

_The more you're slip-sliding away._

He ran through the forest, every sense on the alert for owls, foxes and other night predators. Not that there'd be any foxes in the forbidden forest, they wouldn't last a minute, but there were always the damn owls.

How many times had he run away from owls during their time at school? Sirius had laughed at it, because when you're a large black dog you don't have to worry about running away from anything. James had occasionally tried to protect him, but there was a limit to how much he could do if Peter was on his own. Many of the owls were school owls too, or children's pets, and James refused to hurt them.

It was funny really, after all the good times they'd had together the only thing he really felt for James was a sort of blinding jealousy.

_I know a man_

_He came from my home town._

It was about_ her_ of course. His Tiger-Lilly. But she'd never noticed Peter, and Peter had never dared to approach her because when the alpha-male grabs a girl there's nothing for the beta-male to do expect sit and watch. He'd watched James' stupid ego-ridden courtship of her, consoled him when he'd failed, and kept a photo of Lilly hidden under his pillow. Neither James nor Lilly knew he'd taken it.

James had been so obvious about it. James and Lilly. And what Potter wanted, he tended to get.

_He wore his passion for his woman_

_Like a thorny crown._

James had acted like the only man who'd ever been in love. Sirius had watched on with bored amusement, Remus had given good advice (which had never been taken) but when his preferred friends were busy, James had turned to Peter. The rat remembered long evenings, sitting listening to his friend (his friend?) wax lyrical about the love he wanted and could never have. The love Peter wanted but would never dare ask for.

_He said 'My lady_

_I live in fear._

_My love for you is so overpowering I'm afraid that I may, _

_Disappear.'_

James had spent all of sixth year asking her. And her continuing irate refusals seemed to encourage him more and more. Sometimes Peter thought that it wasn't Lilly that James loved at all; it was the ideal of her, the image of a beautiful, unobtainable red-head. In James's head she had transformed, from a good-looking, intelligent, slightly moody young girl into a vision of Aphrodite.

He'd talked to Remus about it once (thinking back, Peter realized he'd never had a conversation alone with Sirius, ever. Certainly nothing more than a casual chat about homework, and even then he'd been scared stiff of the boy).

'What do you think about James and Lilly.' He'd asked nervously.

Remus looked up from whatever essay he was attempting to finish on time. 'At the moment, hopeless.'

Something inside Peter had leapt up at that, 'You think she doesn't love him?'

'Oh, she loves him alright, but she won't let herself go out with him while he persists in mooning over her like a lovesick puppy.' Remus frowned at his work, 'I'm sure that's not how you spell mandragora.'

_Slip-sliding away_

_Slip-sliding away_

He ducked behind a tree root as a large shadow swooped overhead. Squinting up with the week rat eyes he could see a crowd of Dementors hovering over the lake. Good, perhaps they'd take both Lupin and Black, maybe even the children too, leaving no witnesses.

Even as he thought that his conscience gave a jolt. Because it had never meant to be like this. He'd never meant for James to die, for his beautiful Tiger-Lilly to die, for Harry, who was half Lilly, to be surrounded by a horde of Dementors.

He'd wanted to be a spy, to be useful like Snape and Remus, to be popular like Sirius and James. But it had all fallen apart somewhere.

_You know the nearer your destination _

_The more you're slip-sliding away._

He was almost near the edge of the forest now. In situations like this it was easiest to let the rat's small brain take command. Ducking and dodging quickly through tiny spaces was what rats were good at. A person panicking away in the background was no help at all.

He'd always admired James, even through the jealousy. He remembered the wedding, Sirius getting drunk, Remus smiling more than he'd ever seen before, and his beautiful Tiger-Lilly looking so radiantly happy.

_I know a woman_

_Became a wife_

After that he'd been very careful to keep his feelings and actions towards her purely platonic. They'd all come over to visit sometimes, for Christmas, or birthdays, and he'd help Lilly in the kitchen. They were some of the happiest memories he had of his adult years, drying dishes while talking with her about mundane ordinary things. Watching the light play off her hair every time she turned around, and listening to Sirius and James' laughter floating in from the other room.

It worried him sometimes, that his happiest memories were of doing housework in the company of another mans wife.

_These are the very words she told me_

_To describe her life_

Everyone found it hard, in the years when they worked for The Order. It was not a time that encouraged marital bliss. Sometimes they'd come round to visit and find James sitting on the sofa, head in hands.

'Hey, Prongs, what's up?' Sirius would ask gently and James would shake his head and gesture upwards to where Peter knew Lilly would be sitting in the bedroom, trying not to cry. Sirius would say 'Women, eh?' and break open a bottle of firewhiskey (ignoring Remus's despairing look) while Peter would sneak upstairs and find her, face screwed up with the effort of hiding tears, staring at her wedding photo.

_She said a good day_

_Ain't got no rain_

'Are you alright?' He'd ask, and sit down next to her. Then the tears would flow and sometimes she'd lay her head against his shoulder. He never stroked her hair (though he often thought about it) but instead just gazed at her, and tried to think of comforting things to say. He never did say anything, but the crying seemed to make her feel better.

'Why does he have to do it, it's not bravery.' She said, laying the photo down gently on the pillow. 'You're his friend; can't you make him change his mind?'

He shrugged, partly because he was not quite sure what stupid thing James had elected to do and partly because he knew that James would never take his advice, not in a million years.

'It's dangerous, why can't he see that? It's not even necessary.' He fetched a tissue for her and she sniffled into it for a bit. 'Thanks Pete.'

He mumbled something in reply.

'You're not like him you know. You're sensible.' She was quiet for a moment. 'Does he want to die?'

Peter thought carefully, 'I think it's more that he thinks he can't.'

She twisted the tissue between her fingers, 'It's just some of these missions and things he agrees to go on, they're almost suicide. And I wondered if…if it was something to do with me. You know. If he was, well, unhappy. He might just want to get away.'

He stared at her helplessly. He didn't know what to say. 'It's nothing to do with you. Really. James just takes his work very…seriously.'

_She said a bad day's when I lie in bed_

_And think of all the things that could have been_

'You know I sometimes wonder,' She looked down at the floor clearly embarrassed, 'What it would have been like if I hadn't married him.'

He felt his heart jump, but kept his voice steady, 'He would have been very unhappy.'

She smiled. 'Yes. Back then he would've.'

'He still loves you.' Why did woman have to talk about their relationships all the time? This was torture.

'And I love him, very much so. It's just, it was a rather hurried decision.'

They'd been worried; the Dark Lord had been on the rise. Lots of people had married quickly, wanting to enjoy what time they might have left.

Hating himself for saying it he asked 'Was there someone else you think you could have…been happy with?'

She didn't look at him. Was that a good sign or not? 'There are lots of different choices I could have made.'

_Slip-sliding away_

He'd joined the Death Eater's for her. For them, as a spy for the Order. But somehow, it hadn't turned out. Maybe he should have told Dumbledore. Maybe he shouldn't have tried to do it alone.

_Slip-sliding away_

She'd trusted him. She'd trusted him with her life, with Harry's life. But he'd been too far in by then. The Dark Lord had stared into his eyes and he'd been trapped, trapped like a rat in a world that was suddenly far too big for him.

Occlumency, that was what it was. The Dark Lord had taken one look at him and Lilly had floated helplessly, hopelessly to the front of his mind. The more he'd tried to hide it, the worse it had become, and then the pain had started.

_You know the nearer your destination _

_The more you're slip-sliding away._

He couldn't help it. He hadn't been able to hide it. And he knew Sirius and Remus would never understand because neither of them had ever met the Dark Lord, neither of them had faced him and known what power he had.

And now, the Dark Lord was all he had left. At school he'd stuck with Black and Potter for protection, protection against them mostly, because when he was laughing with them they weren't laughing at him. Now all he had was the Dark Lord, everyone else was out to kill him, only Voldemort could keep him safe.

He turned back into a human at the boundary of Hogwarts and tried to work out where it would be best to apparate too. The latest rumour he'd heard was that the Dark Lord was in Albania. He took a deep breath, trying to concentrate. The last thing he wanted to do was end up splinched across the English Channel.

_I know a father_

_Who had a son_

Any tension between Lilly and James had disappeared with Harry's arrival. The initial euphoria of impending fatherhood had lasted for some time, but even as it had faded James had changed. He became more cautious, less likely to rush headfirst into Sirius's madcap schemes. He took more care of Lilly too, and while she pretended to complain about being treated like a glass ornament, Peter could tell that she secretly loved the attention.

Harry's birth had not changed that, although James had changed from an excited father-to-be into an exhausted childminder. Sirius had helped occasionally, and even Peter had been roped in as a babysitter. It had been an interesting experience, alone in the house with a small child. Harry had spent most of the evening asleep, but had woken up once to be fed. Peter had cradled the small child in his arms, terrified of somehow breaking it, holding the bottle at an awkward angle and looking with slight amazement at Lilly's deep emerald eyes looking so out of place in the tiny face.

He'd been a Death Eater by then, and had spent all night terrified that the Mark would burn, that he'd have to leave the baby all alone in the house, and try to think of an excuse to give James the next morning.

_He longed to tell him all the reasons _

_For the things he'd done._

It suddenly occurred to Peter that he'd spent more time with Harry than James, Sirius and Remus put together. More time than Lilly too, a thought which saddened him. Thinking of Lilly always made him miserable, although the pain had dulled over the years. Spending twelve years of his life in a house full of redheads hadn't helped either, he could only feel glad he'd left before the girl had turned into a woman.

James had never been able to talk with Harry. Never been able to teach him Quidditch, or tell him the tales of what he'd got up to during his school days. And it didn't help Peter to know that it was all his fault.

Or was it? It hadn't been his idea after all, it had been Sirius's. He'd thought about refusing, but Lilly's eyes had fixed on him and she'd whispered 'I'd rather you than Sirius.' He'd felt helpless, because it made sense; he was more sensible, more steadfast than Sirius.

But he was also a Death Eater, and the Dark Lord was a dangerous man to play games with. Looking at Lilly though, had strengthened his resolve. He would be strong, he would survive whatever the Dark Lord threw at him and he would keep Lilly's secret safe.

How long had he lasted? Ten minutes, twenty at most?

_He came a long way, just to explain_

In his last year at Hogwarts, that terrifying, horrifying year, he'd thought he'd seen James once. It had been the night after Sirius had appeared in the Gryffindor Tower with a knife, and Peter had been sitting under Ron's bed, shivering with cold, fear and lack of sleep, when he'd seen something, hovering above Harry's bed.

It all probability he'd imagined it. What with Remus, Sirius and that wretched cat, he'd been surviving on minimal sleep and not much food either. Ron had been forgetting to feed him and he didn't dare sneak down to the kitchens any more for fear of the cat. The shape had been white and as he'd blinked his week little rat eyes it had seemed to solidify into something that vaguely resembled a human figure.

He'd been thinking a lot about the four of them recently, especially with Remus and Sirius wandering around.

_He kissed his boy as he lay sleeping_

_Then he turned around and headed home again_

All the same, Peter wasn't sure how ghosts worked, but if they could be obtained temporarily he wouldn't put it past James to come and take a look at the boy. Just to see what he'd grown into.

At any rate, it had scared him half to death. He'd cowered under the bed and hid his head behind the bedpost. James knew who'd betrayed him, and vengeful ghosts could be dangerous.

He hadn't meant to betray them.

_Slip-sliding away_

Given a choice he would never have chosen too

_Slip-sliding away_

But the Dark Lord didn't give choices. Once you had joined his service it was for ever. Until death. And now, if Sirius survived and his story got out, the Dark Lord was the only person who wouldn't kill him on the spot. Was it weakness to need protection? The Potter's had needed protection, and they had trusted him.

He'd failed them. He'd failed James. He'd failed _Lilly_.

_You know the nearer your destination _

_The more you're slip-sliding away._

He took a deep breath and apparated, the familiar feeling of nausea spreading over him until finally he was standing alone, near what looked like an old dilapidated village. He did a quick check to ensure he'd got here safely, then allowed himself to relax a little. Was this Albania? At any rate, it was far away enough from Black and Lupin.

He trudged towards the village, his feeling of relief disappearing slightly as he remembered why he was here. What would his Lord look like? He'd been nothing but vapour when he'd left Quirrel (in the years he'd spent as a pet of the Chosen One's best friend he'd gleaned a large amount of very useful information) what would he look like now? Would he still be powerful?

His powers had left him at the Potter's house, how much had he retained? Was it even worth trying to find him? Unconsciously, Peter rubbed the Death Eater's mark on his forearm. He didn't really have any choice, he never had. He served the Dark Lord now.

The wizarding world had cheered when Voldemort was destroyed. There had been so many owls that the sky had resembled a small snowstorm, to say nothing of the fireworks and parties. The only people who hadn't celebrated that day (apart from the Death Eaters) were those who knew what a tremendous failure the whole thing had been. The Dark Lord had been defeated, but not because of any grand scheme of Albus Dumbledore.

It was Lilly. That thought still made him feel proud. Lilly had defeated the Dark Lord through her child.

But it very nearly hadn't worked. Even Peter couldn't say for certain what had been going on that night.

_Oh, God only knows_

Probably only Dumbledore had truly known everything that had happened that night.

_God makes his plans_

Dumbledore had been playing a dangerous game, and that night it had very nearly fallen to pieces. Dumbledore knew the prophecy, he knew that Snape knew it and he knew that Voldemort knew it. He knew Sirius was the Potter's secret keeper, he knew the Potter's child was a very likely candidate for the Chosen One.

He had all the information, and he'd marshaled his pieces on the great gaming board. But then they'd messed it up. James, Sirius and Lilly and Peter between them had thrown a spanner into the works of whatever carefully ordered plan Dumbledore had. It hadn't even had very much to do with Peter being a Death Eater, even without joining Voldemort, he knew in his heart of hearts that he would not have lasted long as the Potter's secret keeper.

They should have told Dumbledore, but then, maybe he should have told them. They hadn't known about the prophecy at all, James and Lilly had no idea that they were in danger until Dumbledore had told them. He'd suggested the Fidelus Charm, and maybe if they'd known just why it was so important they would have allowed Dumbledore to be the secret-keeper rather than insisting on Sirius.

But no. The whole story of that last year was one of confused misinformation and distrust.

_The information is unavailable to the mortal man_

Distrust. Distrust and fear. He'd kept his little secrets squirreled away from The Order while, in the dark nights of terror, the Dark Lord had withdrawn them from him, one by one.

It had been a nightmare existence. He hadn't known who to trust. And he hadn't known about the prophecy then, the Dark Lord had waited before attacking the Potters and for a glorious month he had dared to hope that all would be well.

_We go to our jobs_

_Collect our pay_

James had been sticking to his job at the ministry, and staying away from the more dangerous work of the Order. He had a son to look after now. Peter had met him every day of that last month, and every day he'd smiled and asked how Harry was doing. James would run an exhausted hand through his hair and say something like 'Fine, fine, he was only up three times last night.'

Thankfully he hadn't had to face Remus or Sirius, James had been bad enough. The month had dragged on, and the Potters had still lived. He hadn't known about the Prophecy then.

It was only in that last terrifying night, that he'd realised. He'd been at a party at Narcissa's house and overheard Bellatrix Lestrange whispering some to young Barty Crouch. Something about a prophecy and the Potters. It had hit him with an almost physical shock, leaving him gasping for breath when he realised what he'd done. He'd made his excuses and left, apparating straight to the Potters house.

But by then it had been too late, too late.

_We think we're gliding down the highway_

_When in fact we're slip-sliding away_

He'd taken Voldemort's wand, turned into a rat, and vanished. What else could he do?

_Slip-sliding away_

_Slip-sliding away_

_You know the nearer your destination _

_The more you're slip-sliding away._

------

Notes: A couple of interesting ideas of my own in this one, just stuff I wanted to get written down before Deathly Hallows came out and smashed it all. If you didn't like it, come back tomorrow for Sirius's chapter, it is better and more canon.

And please review... :)


	2. Sirius

Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K Rowling and Warner Bros. I make no money and no copyright infringement is intended.

Sirius: Still crazy after all these years.

_I met my old friend, on the street last night_

He was fed up. Fed up with Grimmauld Place, with Dumbledore, with the order. Bored of being continually left out, left behind and sneered at by Snape.

That evening there'd been an opening. Mundungus had been the last to leave, and as he'd turned to check that he'd left nothing behind, his cloak had caught on the door handle. He'd sworn and tried to pull it off.

That left a large space leading into the empty and inviting street. Noone else was around. Transforming quickly into a large black dog, Sirius made his bid for freedom. Padfoot darted through the door and raced away into the night.

It reminded Sirius of the months at school when they used to join Remus as a werewolf. There was the same sense of adventure, and thrill of excitement. The same hidden fear of capture, of being found out by Dumbledore. And of course although Sirius didn't realise it there was the same innocent foolhardiness of an action that was far more serious than he thought. He didn't care though, tonight, the dog was free.

He ran through the streets, as far away from his parent's house as he could. He stopped and barked at the sky, howling at the stars; Cygnus, Regulus, Bellatrix and Sirius, he knew how to find them all. When they'd been younger their Uncle had pointed them all out.

'Padfoot?' He froze, ready to run as Remus walked out of an alley on his left. What was Remus doing wandering around London on his own? 'Padfoot, is that you?'

_He seemed so glad to see me I just smiled_

Remus looked tired and worn. Sirius wanted to ask what he'd been up to but he knew his friend wouldn't appreciate it and so just whined, quietly, before transforming back to a man in front of him and grinning.

Remus waved his arms wildly, 'What are you doing?' He hissed, 'Sirius, turn back, now. It's too dangerous.'

He shrugged, 'We're in the heart of Muggle London at 11pm, I doubt anyone's going to be on the lookout for escaped wizarding convicts.'

'You should be back at Grimmauld Place.' Remus said half-heartedly.

'Can't I stay out, just this once?'

Remus was silent, and Sirius wondered what he was thinking about. Somewhere in the distance another dog started barking. Remus smiled, 'You can come back to my place if you want; I was just heading home.'

_We talked about the good times_

_And we drank ourselves some beers.'_

They both had butterbeer, and Sirius kept away from the firewhiskey (even though it was right there in the cabinet in front of him) because he didn't want to see the pained expression on Remus's face. When they'd been at Hogwarts Remus had looked up to him when he downed a bottle of firewhiskey, it had been a status symbol, a bad-boy thing. Even after they'd left school he'd done no more than roll his eyes when Sirius reached for a bottle. Now though, he looked hurt, although he never said anything.

They talked and laughed, keeping the conversation away from the present and sticking to the good times, the childhood they'd spent at Hogwarts. The conversation seemed light and friendly, but Sirius could tell something between them had changed. It wasn't even about Azkaban, it had happened before that. Somewhere between their childhood and James's wedding the shutters behind Remus's amber eyes had crashed down.

It was still fun to talk though. To remember a time before the fighting, before the fear and the horror of War. Childhood seemed to be the only time of their lives when they hadn't been fighting something, and Sirius suddenly realised that even then, Remus had been fighting the wolf.

'D'you remember the time we turned Snape's hair pink?' Sirius giggled.

Remus smiled, but there was something else in the smile, and he moved the three unopened butterbeer bottles out of Sirius's reach. 'We never turned Snape's hair pink.'

'Didn't we?'

'No. You spread a rumour around that we were going to, sometime in fifth year I think, but we never actually did.' Remus looked down at his friend, 'You should get back now.'

'I don't want to go back there. You don't know where my motorbike's gone, do you?'

_Still crazy after all these years_

Remus laughed, 'You haven't changed.'

You have, Sirius wanted to say. You have and I don't know why. I never realised it before, there was too much going on, with The Order, with Harry, with Voldemort, but something's different about you.

'I'm still a Marauder.' Are you Remus?

'The Marauders!' Remus laughed. 'I spent twelve years trying to forget all those times, and Harry sent them all flooding back when he showed me the map.'

Sirius dropped the bottle, watching it spin away over the floor. 'You tried to forget?'

Remus turned away, 'They were quite painful memories, given that I thought you'd joined Voldemort and killed James and Peter.'

There was a rather strained silence before Sirius asked, so what have you been up to?'

_I'm not the kind of man, who tend to socialise_

_I seem to lean on old familiar ways_

Remus sighed. 'You know me. Same as usual really. Work, or lack of it, and doing my bit for the Order.'

'What bit for the Order?' Sirius asked, curious, then wished he hadn't at the hunted fear that shot through his friends face. He knew Remus was doing something with werewolves. Other werewolves.

Looking at Remus's careworn face and the dark marks under his eyes Sirius suddenly realised that over the last few months he was learning to hate Dumbledore. The man was just so convinced that what he was doing was right; it never occurred to him that maybe his wonderful plans and ideas might not work. Maybe no one had ever told him that these were people's lives he was playing with, not chess pieces.

Inwardly he blamed Dumbledore for James's death as well, but that was only because he didn't want to blame himself.

'Have you redecorated?' He asked, in a desperate attempt at changing the subject, 'Your flat looks different.'

'The big table's gone.' Remus said casually, trying to imply that he'd simply grown tired of the large mahogany table and decided to get rid of it. Sirius wondered if he'd been forced to sell it.

He took another swig of the butterbeer. 'Harry's got a girlfriend, you know.'

_And I ain't no fool for love songs_

_That whisper in my ears_

Remus nodded. 'Seems about time. What's she like?'

'Called Cho-Chang.' Sirius reached across the table for another butterbeer.

'Ah Yes.' Remus said, watching Sirius's hand as it curled around the neck of another dusty bottle. 'She's in Ravenclaw, I remember her. Quite pretty.'

Sirius grinned, 'Is she worth our Harry?'

Remus shrugged. Sirius's grin grew even wider, 'What about you then?'

'What about me?' Remus looked down at the table, pretty sure where this was going.

'There must be a girl out there for you.'

He raised an eyebrow, 'Yes, I'm a middle-aged poverty-stricken werewolf; the girls just can't wait to get hold of me.'

Sirius tilted his head back, downing half the bottle in a few gulps, 'Seriously mate, do you have your eye on anyone.'

Remus thought briefly of Tonks. 'No, not really.'

'You'll find someone someday.'

Remus shook his head, 'I'm a werewolf Sirius, it wouldn't be fair on her.'

Gulp, gulp. The bottle was finished.

_Still crazy after all these years_

'I never did find out where my motorcycle went.'

'Well you should've kept better care of it shouldn't you.'

'I leant it to Hagrid to get Harry to his uncle and aunt. Hah, that was a mistake wasn't it. I should've taken Harry, gone straight to Dumbledore and told him I was innocent.'

Remus grabbed the last butterbeer, Sirius was already looking pretty unsteady 'Why didn't you.'

'I didn't think, did I. There were only four people who knew I was innocent and two of them were dead while the other was a traitor. I didn't think Dumbledore would believe me.'

Remus shook his head, 'I would never have thought it of Peter.'

'He was always a bit of a rat.' Sirius sighed, 'What went wrong Remus. At Hogwarts we were all friends, and now…' His voice trailed off. Now James was dead, Peter was a traitor and Remus…Remus had retreated into himself somehow.

'You should get home.' Remus said quietly. Sirius nodded.

_Four in the morning_

_Clapped out_

_Yawning_

_Longing my life away_

'Sirius?'

'Whadisit?'

'You're still here? You should've headed back ages ago!'

'Whasit?'

Remus bit his lip, and pulled his friend upright, trying not to look at the accusatory gaping hole in the cabinet. He'd seen Sirius out the door and gone up to bed, to be awakened some time later by a loud crash, 'You left for home four hours ago.'

'Came back' Sirius mumbled.

'What! Why?'

'You're mybest frien Remus. Noone cares bout me except you.'

'Come on.' Remus lifted him up. Sirius stared at him through the haze, but he wasn't looking pained, or even upset. Just blank and resigned, the way he'd always looked since…since when?

He tried to remember, as Remus wrapped a cloak around him and bundled him out the door. They staggered down the street and Remus whispered 'I'm going to try side-along apparition, alright?'

'Righ' fine.' He muttered. Had it been seventh year? It had, hadn't it. Oh sweet Merlin it had been ever since he'd played the werewolf prank on Snape, the one that had seemed such a hilariously good idea at ten o'clock at night after winning the Quidditch cup. After several butterbeers too. Not just butterbeer either.

They apparated, Sirius gasped and threw up as soon as they arrived, apparating when drunk was not pleasant. And, how typical, there was Dumbledore, standing right outside Grimmauld place with a disapproving expression on his face.

_I never worry, _

_Why should I_

Dumbledore was speaking, but Sirius wasn't really listening. Instead he was thinking back, trying to remember what had happened, not the night he'd tried to scare Snape rigid by putting him face to face with an angry werewolf, but the next morning. Dumbledore had talked at him in that calmly angry, slightly disapproving voice, (much as he was doing now) and James had shouted at him, even though the night he'd gone to tell Snape James had been in agreement too.

Or in as much agreement anyone can be when they're having trouble walking in a straight line.

After that he'd gone straight up to apologise to Remus. And Remus had listened to him and said it was fine, don't worry Sirius, no one was hurt.

And he hadn't worried about it. As far as Sirius was concerned it was over. It had been a stupid game, a dangerous game, but a game nevertheless.

He hadn't noticed the shutters close behind Remus's eyes, hadn't seen the inner struggle of a boy who'd suddenly decided that the only way to survive was not to let himself get hurt. Not to let anything hurt him, and to keep what remained of Remus Lupin locked away inside his head.

They hadn't spent much time with Remus after that. Not because of it, although indirectly it was because of it as it put an end to all their night time ramblings as Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. The map had been finished, and James was already growing too old for jokes, spending more time with Lilly and practising Quidditch. There were the NEWT's coming up too, and Remus was finding it hard to keep up with all his work. Spending two nights a month as a man-eating monster was taking its toll.

_It's all gonna fade_

He was back in his room now, which was spinning around him. He drank to forget, because there was so much pain and it was nice to watch it fade into the bottom of a glass. Dumbledore disapproved, but Dumbledore wasn't stuck in a house he hated. Remus was hurt, but Remus was allowed out, to run with wolves.

Sirius knew it was unfair to think that, but inwardly he couldn't help but get angry at the sheer irony of it all. That Remus, who wanted nothing but a safe life, was out doing the most dangerous job possible, spying on werewolves, while he, Sirius, who loved the thrill and the rushing excitement of danger, was stuck inside.

_Now I sit by my window_

_And I watch the cars go by_

There were two views from Grimmauld Place, the one that looked out onto the street and the one that overlooked the garden. Of the two, he preferred the street, the garden held too many memories. The street was full of movement, people, bikes, noisy muggle traffic, and on the days he knew they were coming he could watch out for the Order members, hurrying around with furtive expressions.

They were quite easy to spot. The only exception, to his great annoyance, was Snape, who strolled up to the door as if he were a normal muggle on everyday business, before casually sloping in. Probably his muggle upbringing, Sirius thought with an inward sneer.

But it was lonely. And so boring. When he got fed up with staring out the window he'd use up some time mooching angrily around the house, like a sulky black shadow. Every room, every ornament, every crack in the wall held a memory; here was the bend in the corridor where him and Regulus would crouch, listening to his parents arguing; this was the lamp stand that Bellatrix had knocked over when she'd been ten, there was still a slight crack down the side where his mother had imperfectly tried to mend it.

Sometimes he would go into the hallway, smash the troll umbrella stand against the floor and spend an enjoyable few hours shouting back at his mother's portrait, saying all the things he'd never quite dared to say while he was alive. But Dumbledore had stopped him doing that as well, in his anger he tended to let things slip, things that Dumbledore didn't want Kreature to hear.

_I fear I'll do some damage _

_One fine day_

How long would he have to stay here? He lay back on the bed, sinking into a fit of melancholy depression that he knew from experience might last several hours. It helped pass the time, which was what his life seemed to have become nowadays, and endless series of ways to use up time.

Was this really a life? Here he was, lying back, trying to make his life pass by as quickly as possible, but why? There didn't seem to be any purpose to it. The only thing he could hope for was that someday somebody would capture Pettigrew; Peter was his only ticket to freedom.

He spiralled downwards, deeper into the lethargic blackness. What if they didn't? What if Pettigrew died before he could be captured? Would he have to stay at Grimmauld Place his entire life? There would only be Dumbledore's word against a large number of witnesses. He would have to spend the rest of his life watching his life flash past him. Useless, wasted.

He couldn't do it. He wasn't even sure how much longer he could last like this. How long before he just walked out the door, to take his own chances in the muggle world. He could get Mundungus to pawn all the silver floating around the house (he didn't like it anyway, he was always worried Moony might touch some by accident) and buy a ticket to France. Hitchhike through Europe, he'd keep his wand with him encase anything went wrong. Maybe he could find the motorbike again.

Would he ever be allowed out? If Harry was in trouble (and he seemed to have plenty of enemies this year), would that count as an adequate reason for him to leave the house?

_Still I would not be convicted_

_By a jury of my peers_

Sirius decided that it would. After all, the whole point was to keep Harry safe, that was what they were all working for. It was his duty as both as Godfather and as a member of the Order of the Phoenix to ensure Harry's continuing survival.

Snape would complain, but Remus would support him. Sirius mentally ran through a list of Order members. Moody would probably support him too, and he could always count on Mundungus. McGonnagle, maybe. Molly Weasley, defiantly, anything to protect her precious Harry. Kingsley, probably. All in all he reckoned he'd have quite a good chance of getting away with it, if Harry really needed the help.

_Still crazy, after all these years_

He sunk into gloom again, after all the problem was not so much going to help Harry, as finding out whether Harry was in trouble in the first place. The boy was like James, never willing to ask for help if he thought he could manage alone. Snape called it stubborn pride, but to Sirius it was a mark of independence and bravery.

He'd keep a close watch on the floo network, and try to contact the boy more often. He'd have to badger Dumbledore for news too.

He brightened up a bit at the thought. After all, Harry had managed to get into spectacular and dangerous trouble pretty much on a yearly basis since he'd come to Hogwarts. And whatever he managed this year, Sirius would be there. Helping him, fighting with him, Black and Potter, magical mischief makers once more.

_Oh, still crazy_

_Still crazy_

_Still crazy after all these years._


	3. Remus

Remus: American Tune

_Many's the time I've been mistaken_

_And many times confused_

He stood by the grave staring down at Sirius's headstone. Dumbledore had chosen what to write on it and Harry had agreed. They hadn't even asked him, although to be honest he didn't know what he would have said if they had.

He still wasn't quite sure just what he felt about Sirius's death. After so many years of learning to keep his feelings hidden the sudden event had shaken him. His feelings towards Sirius had changed so much over the last five years, from hatred and anger, back to the shaky ghost of the friendship they'd known at school, and finally the worry and pain he'd felt every time he'd seen Sirius at Grimmauld Place.

He'd watched, helpless, as his friend had sunk down into a mire of alcohol and depression. He'd tried, occasionally, to curb his friends drinking habit, but he couldn't spend all of his time at Grimmauld Place and Sirius seemed determined to drink the family cellars dry. And Remus hadn't wanted to get too involved; it was Sirius's life after all, although not much of a life at the moment.

And all though he mourned Sirius's death, a small terrible part of him could not help thinking 'Thank goodness that's finally over.' Not just for Sirius either, he was as much danger to the rest of the Order as he was to himself; his death had removed a large portion of worry from Remus's mind, and Remus hated himself for it.

Sirius had been buried next to James and Lilly, Remus was sure it was what he would've wanted, not that the position of his dead body made any difference.

It was Peter's fault, he thought, staring blankly at the graves in front of him. Peter had betrayed James and Lilly, then left Sirius to take the blame. Yet that seemed strange, even for Peter. They'd been with Peter at school, hadn't they known him?

_Yes and I've often felt forsaken_

_And certainly misused_

Maybe Peter had changed. Certainly Remus didn't remember seeing much of him once they'd left Hogwarts, although to be fair he hadn't seen much of James or Sirius either. He'd been too busy, trying to find a job, and a house, then having to organise his father's funeral, that had been hard.

But then he'd changed too. It had been that night, the night he'd almost killed Snape. After the transformation he'd been too tired to think and just fallen straight asleep, but that morning…he shuddered slightly at the memory.

That morning had been one of the worst mornings of his life. To awake, and realise that in the horrors of the night you'd almost killed someone, and he'd forced himself to think: no, the wolf almost killed someone. He could have torn Snape apart, limb from limb.

And Sirius didn't seem to care.

No one cared, it seemed. Even Madam Pomfrey's only comment was 'Thank goodness for a lucky escape.' She'd been worried about him too, it turned out. Snape was a powerful wizard, even in his sixth year. With the right hexes he could have torn the wolf apart.

Dumbledore had come to speak to him, in a grave quiet voice. Maybe the old man had thought it would be comforting for Remus to know that it hadn't been his fault, it hadn't even been the wolf's fault.

Maybe he even thought it would be comforting for Remus to know it had been Sirius Black's fault.

Remus had sat on the bed, his arms wrapped around his knees which were pulled up to his chest. He'd kept his eyes carefully blank, looking at a portrait of a dozing man in a ruff, just next to Dumbledore's left ear and said 'Yes Headmaster.'

He'd said that a lot. There hadn't really been much else to say.

Then Sirius had come up and apologised in a mumbling sort of voice and Remus had felt terrible. Sirius had never said sorry to him before, not even when he'd accidentally spilt ink all over Remus's transfiguration notes. And he'd replied with something adult and sensible, something Dumbledore would have said, something about it all being over, and not mattering because after all no one was hurt.

Then Sirius's face had cleared a bit and he'd said 'Alright.' And left. Except as far as Remus was concerned it wasn't alright at all. He'd thought about his friendship with Sirius and James for a long time after that and eventually come to the unfortunate conclusion that it probably wasn't a friendship at all. It couldn't be, not when he owed them so much, and gave so little back in return. Not when Sirius had used him to get back at Snape for some stupid prank joke that had its origins in a long standing argument that even Remus couldn't remember starting.

_Oh but I'm alright, I'm alright_

Still, he'd got over it. Gone back to school, taken his exams, but it seemed like there'd always been something, something in the way of the relationship between the four of them. With retrospect, it had probably been Peter, but at the time, he had thought it was him.

It might have been something to do with Lilly and James too. Their marriage had been a happy one, but sometimes Lilly would get a little depressed. It was the War, James said, and the continual strength needed to keep going. Remus had sometimes thought privately that it was more likely to be fears for James's safety, in the early years of their marriage he had insisted on taking missions that steadily got more and more dangerous.

'Why?' Remus had asked him once, 'Why not stay safe with your wife?'

James had shrugged, and a small cloud of anxiety had drifted over him at the mention of his wife. 'I fight because we have too. I'm always on missions with Sirius anyway, we'll be fine together.'

Remus raised an eyebrow and James laughed. 'Me and Sirius aren't as bad as you think.'

_I'm just weary to my bones_

He turned away from the graves, and started to head back to his flat. The sky was dark and slightly cloudy, but he could still see the moon behind the trees. It was waxing gibbous, not too long now.

He sometimes wondered whether the gradual decline in their relations might not have been something to do with the wolf after all. James had changed after the werewolf incident, becoming more mature and less likely to agree unthinkingly to every idea Sirius suggested. He'd also been slightly wary around Remus; Remus certainly knew that once Harry had been born he'd never been invited around to do babysitting, not on his own anyway. He'd sat up with Sirius sometimes, but never anytime near full-moon.

He could feel when it was full moon, mostly without even looking up at the night sky. It was a sort of permanent ache within him, although that was more likely to be due to the lack of sleep, proper nutrition and, yes, lack of moral too. His spirit felt weary, almost broken; especially now Sirius had gone. James and Lilly death had been bad enough, and Peter's death too (as they'd thought at the time) but he'd spent twelve years learning to accept it, and the sudden reappearance of Sirius and Peter's admission of guilt had shook him. At first it had seemed exciting, Sirius being back, but it had changed.

It had changed because they had changed. Azkaban had hurt Sirius, and the jobless, pain filled years had hurt Remus. He'd looked at his friend and seen a man who was not broken, but bitter, and that was even more dangerous. Sirius had not changed completely, but subtly, in different ways. And while headstrong wilfulness may be charming in a boy of twelve, it is more frightening in a gaunt and angry man of forty.

_Still, you don't expect to be bright and bon vivant_

_So far away from home_

He reached the front door of his half-owned house and pulled it open, stepping into the crowded clutter of whoever it was that now lived on the first floor. He climbed the stairs slowly, feeling no pleasure at being back home.

It hardly seemed like home anyway, not now. He'd moved out of his small house several months ago, after reasoning that there was no use keeping it when he spent so much time at Grimmauld Place. Now he was in an even smaller house, he'd rented the top floor and spent as little time in the place as possible.

They said home was where the heart was. His heart certainly wasn't in this old damp building; it was lying in pieces next to the graves of Lilly, James and Sirius.

And somehow the grave of Peter too. Certainly the boy he'd known at school was long dead. Sometimes he thought the boy who had once been Remus Lupin was also dead, a cold corpse outside the Shrieking Shack.

His real home had been Hogwarts, but that was several miles and eighteen years ago. It had been…strange going back to be a teacher there, like opening an old box and watching a thousand ghosts fly out. He'd left at eighteen thinking he'd never return, and yet he'd been back there, listening to the sound of footsteps and the old familiar gossip that might change words yet somehow never changed content.

It had seemed unreal, talking to Snape and hearing rumours of Sirius, and it made him smile now, to think that all of them had been at Hogwarts that year. All except James.

And then at the end of the year it had all suddenly escalated. He'd found himself back in the shrieking shack (and that was somewhere else he'd thought he'd never see again), at full moon. They'd all been there, Black, Pettigrew, Potter, Lupin and Snape; it wasn't only Sirius who'd sometimes treated Harry as if he were his father, Remus knew Snape did too.

He'd wondered briefly, before the wolf had taken over, whether Snape was remembering the last time they'd all been in the shack together.

_So far away from home_

He lay down on the bed and stared blankly up at the ceiling. Sirius, James and Lilly were gone, him Peter and Snape were left. Who would be the next one?

_And I don't know a soul who's not been battered_

He thought of Snape. Of all of them, he was probably in the most danger. It was hard work being a spy, and serving two masters who both insisted on near-perfection could not be easy.

Not for the first time, he wondered idly, just why it was that Dumbledore trusted Snape so implicitly. When had Dumbledore first started trusting him? What had Snape done to prove his innocence so conclusively? And when had Snape actually become a Death Eater? Had it been at school? Had Sirius Black sent a Death Eater to be hurt, if not killed, by a werewolf that night?

He suddenly realised that he'd never once worried about Snape's reaction the night he'd first found out about the werewolf. He'd assumed that to Snape it had just been another stupid childish joke, but thinking about it, it must have come as quite a shock to realise that there were people who would be happy to see your body mauled to pieces by an angry monster. Because the wolf was a monster, Remus knew that.

That night had overstepped the mark; it had been the end of the jokes. Remus frowned at the peeling whitewash that covered the ceiling. Maybe to Snape it had never been a joke.

What had he done after Dumbledore's lecture? Maybe he hadn't crawled back into his shell, retreated into silence as he'd done after all the other taunts from Sirius. Maybe that night had set him loose on the world, a young man, hurt, bitter, longing for revenge.

And Voldemort had offered it.

_I don't have a friend who feels at ease_

With thoughts of Voldemort his mind turned to Peter, little Pettigrew who even now could be sitting by his masters side, planning death for Harry, maybe for all of them. Somehow he couldn't fit his mental image of Peter Pettigrew as an enthusiastic young boy onto the idea of Peter Pettigrew as a ruthless Death Eater. It didn't help that he'd spent twelve years imagining Peter as a hero either, and bitterly regretting that he'd not seen more of him in his final days. The days after James and Lilly's death had been nightmares, what with the ministry hunting for Sirius, and everyone celebrating Voldemort's downfall. There had been no time to just sit quietly and mourn, no time for the slow acceptance of death.

Instead he'd thrust it into the back of his mind. Dumbledore had come to talk to him about it at one point, and he remembered, yet again, staring blankly past the man and saying 'Yes Dumbledore.' Once again Dumbledore had told him that it wasn't his fault, he'd been busy with no time to worry about James.

And once again he'd been told it was the fault of Sirius Black.

After than he'd gone up to the attic and, with quiet deliberation, took all the pictures he had of Sirius Black (even the wedding photos) and burnt them. It had been a small act of rebellion against a man who'd killed James, killed Lilly and once, long ago, had tried to kill him.

_I don't know a dream that's not been shattered_

_Or driven to its knees_

Well they were all lost now. Snape was trapped between the two most powerful wizards of the century, James and Sirius were dead and Peter, well, who knew what Peter was going through. At Hogwarts it had all seemed so clear, so obvious. James had said he wanted to be an auror, and then of course Peter had wanted to be one too. Sirius's career plans had veered wildly, depending on his mood at the time. In his first few years, he'd wanted to train dragons and then, like many young boys, he'd gone through a period of wanting to be a professional Quidditch player. Curse breaker, sweetshop owner, Minister for Magic, he'd considered them all at some stage.

In the end of course, he'd come into his uncles inheritance and spent most of his time working for the Order. He'd tried a job once, working as a clerk for some fledgling business, but he'd got bored after a week.

And James had slid into the ministry work provided by his father. In a way it had been almost inevitable, despite the plans and ambitions they'd had at school. Peter had joined the ministry too, and Remus had drifted between temporary jobs, finding whatever work he could.

He'd been amazed when Dumbledore had offered him the post of teacher. Was it safe to teach children, when every month the wolf would run free? The wolfsbane potion had been an elixir of life for Remus, and he got a simple, shameful, slightly Sirius-like pleasure from the fact that it was Snape who had to make it.

Teaching had been one of the best jobs he'd ever done. He'd enjoyed it, and to his surprise he'd discovered he was good at it. Even thought he'd known from the beginning that as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher he'd be unlikely to last more than a year, he'd dared to hope that perhaps this time would be different. Or that even if he lost the Defence post, he could stay on and teach something else. Having finally found a job he loved, it had seemed only natural to assume he could keep doing it for the next few years.

He should have known better.

_But it's alright, it's alright_

He should probably consider himself fortunate to have been a teacher at all, even for one year. He sometimes wondered about the students he'd left behind, especially when he'd found out the Umbridge was teaching them. It had made him, not angry, he'd stopped feeling angry long ago, but distinctly annoyed to know that while Umbridge was permitted to torture (and it _had_ been torture) students at will, he was forbidden from teaching because he was a werewolf.

The wolf was a monster. But Umbridge in her own way was just as bad.

He didn't feel upset. He'd decided during his sixth year summer holidays that the way to stop being hurt was to stop feeling upset. And it had worked. To a certain extent. He kept his feelings neutral now, along with his opinions. Everything that could damage him, everything that could hurt him, was driven to the back of him mind.

It came out through the wolf. The violent raging fear, the terror of death, the pain that filled his heart would take over the mere anger of the wolf, driving it wild with despair. His howls became more desperate, and any furniture that was accidentally left in the basement on the nights he transformed would be splinters by the next morning.

But while he was a man it didn't show. The anger was inside, the fear was hidden behind the placid, adult mind he'd spent years building up.

Twelve years in fact.

_For we lived so well so long_

When he thought about it though, he had to admit that he was lucky to have as many good memories as he did. He'd had a normal education, normal friends even who'd helped him and comforted him. His work may not have been particularly steady, but he hadn't starved. He'd seen some of the werewolves who worked for Voldemort, snarling, ragged pitiful things who'd been cast out by their families, or hunted down by local authorities.

He remembered the day his friends first told him they knew. It had been after a transfiguration lesson, in an old deserted classroom. Sirius had knocked his bag over and he'd been late to leave, staying behind to pick collect his scattered belongings.

James had shut the door, and the menacing little click of the lock had sent shivers down his spine. He'd turned to see Sirius standing, arms folded with a slight smirk on his face while Peter peered anxiously at him from behind James.

'Is there anything you want to tell us Remus?'

He couldn't recall ever being so scared in his life.

'About where you go every month?'

He'd dropped his bag and thrown his arms over his head, he'd been so certain they were going to attack him, hating him for being different and somehow evil. He'd seen what they did to Snape.

James had gasped, shocked, and come running over. 'Remus mate, it's alright, we aren't going to hurt you. We sort of know'

He'd looked up slowly.

'We worked it out.'

'_I _worked it out.' Sirius countered proudly from across the room.

'It must be awful for you. Really painful…'

_Still when I think of the road we're travelling on_

_I wonder what's gone wrong_

When had it been, that the four friends had turned into two dead, one traitor and one old, tired almost lifeless shell?

His head hurt now. Too much thinking. He levered himself off the bed and went into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. There were a few grains left in the tin so he upended it, scraping around the rim to collect any little flakes that might have stuck there. The milk was off (he should have got some on the way back from the funeral) so he had it black.

He wandered slowly back into the bedroom, ignoring the banging sounds from downstairs. He had no idea who his latest housemate was, and had very little desire to find out. He thought briefly of abandoning the place altogether and living at Grimmauld Place; common sense suggested it was a sound economic idea, but there were too many memories in Sirius's old house.

Sirius had never thought he'd end up back in it. He'd complained at length, quite violently, when Dumbledore had first suggested it, arguing that he'd been quite happy cruising around Europe with Buckbeak. Dumbledore had explained patiently that that was no longer safe, not with the ministry so determined to find him, and eventually after the insistence of all his friends, had capitulated with bad grace.

Safety, they had said. Even Remus had thought it would be safer for Sirius to stay at home. Well, now he was dead. He probably would have lasted longer on his own after all, although Remus doubted it. Sirius was no good at keeping out of trouble; he'd be running back to London every other day to ensure Harry was safe.

Sirius took his duties as Godfather very seriously. They were all he had to remind him of James. Remus remembered the christening; Sirius in a rumpled suit nevertheless managing to look dashingly smart. Peter grinning and staring at Lilly with a slightly hopeless look on his face, and James, every inch a proud father. Remus smiled at the memory. He wondered if James had ever known about Peter's schoolboy crush on his wife, he'd only found out in seventh year, when searching for a sheet from his charms essay he'd found a picture of Lilly under Peter's pillow.

_I can't help it, I wonder what's gone wrong_

He took another sip of his coffee, staring at the fire, which was already starting to die down. He needed more fuel, and with Sirius dead it wouldn't feel right to continue taking it from Grimmauld Place.

He frowned at the fire, a face was starting to appear, and it looked like…

'Wotcha Remus.'

He jumped, Tonks had been the last person he'd expected and to be completely honest the last person he wanted to see at the moment. It was bad enough trying to cope with blank numbness in his mind that Sirius's death had caused without having to confront his feelings about her.

He took a gulp of the coffee, trying to buy himself time. 'Hello Tonks.'

She smiled at him 'Saw you at the funeral.'

'Yes.' He bit his lip. What did she expect him to say?

'Are you feeling alright?' He nodded, trying to work out when the last time he'd felt anything even approaching alright had been.

'Well, if you need anything…' She looked hopeful.

'Tonks,' He began, and stopped, unsure of how to continue. He knew what she felt for him; she'd blurted it out one evening when they'd been sitting alone in Grimmauld Place. He'd told her that he liked her too, very much so, and beat a hasty retreat. They hadn't really spoken much since then.

It wasn't safe for her. It wasn't fair either, for her to be expected to spend the rest of her life looking after a man who turned into a monster. And where would they live?

'Tonks, I'm sorry but…' He stared at the mantelpiece, unwilling to face the hurt in her eyes, 'I…'

'Are you _sure_ you're alright Remus, you look awful.'

He almost broke down at that. He wanted to. To collapse, there and then, into a sobbing howling mess on the floor. To cry, as he'd once seen Molly do, until there was nothing left inside. To break down the barriers in his head and once, just once, let some of the wolf into the man.

He coughed slightly, and took another gulp of the coffee. 'I'm fine. I think I just need a bit of time alone.'

'Right.' She gave a sad little smile and her hair seemed to droop. 'Well, I'll be seeing you round.'

'Yes.' He nodded.

'Bye then.' She gave a small wave and vanished with a pop.

He clenched his teeth together tightly and placed the coffee on the bedside table. He'd have to remember the milk next time he went out.

He pulled his coat off and folded it neatly, dropping it onto the chair then lay back down on the bed, and tried to empty his mind. He felt drained and weary, but sleep seemed to completely evade him.

_And I dreamed I was dying_

Maybe he'd be the next one dead, buried in the graveyard next to James, Lilly and Sirius. The more he thought about it, the better it sounded; it would be a relief to finally leave, to finally be allowed to sleep. He was unclear what happened after death, but if there was anywhere else, James and Sirius would be there. Maybe Sirius would be his old self again, as he'd been at school, and James would be the happy mature young father he'd become in the last few months of his life, but without the threat of death hanging over him.

It wasn't that Remus was thinking of suicide, which would be unfair both to Harry and the other Order members. He had a job to do after all. It was just that suddenly he thought he could understand some of what Sirius had been feeling over the last few months. A hopeless, endless dread that makes danger, any danger, seem like a release. The feeling that had made Sirius angry and melancholic, and made Remus feel numb.

_I dreamed that my soul rose, unexpectedly_

Sirius, James and even Lilly, had died easily. Avada Kedavra was known for many things, agonising pain was not one of them. Sometimes Remus thought that his best option would be to get involved in something really dangerous in the ministry, such as tracking down escaped Death Eaters, in the hope that a quick A-K would carry him off.

His loyalty to Dumbledore was what prevented him. Dumbledore needed someone working with the werewolves, even though Death by Fenrir Greyback would be far more excruciatingly painful than any curse.

Did Avada Kedavra hurt? There was no information one way or the other. It was at least quick.

_And looking back down at me_

_Smiled reassuringly_

He closed his eyes and watched the images drifting across them. Sirius, James, Lilly and Harry, even the occasional glimpse of Peter and Snape. Peter's father had died in their third year, and he remembered Sirius predicting confidently that none of _them_ would die, they would become the most powerful wizards in the world.

It gave him a sudden uneasy shudder to recall that Voldemort had thought that once, and maybe was still thinking it.

But Sirius could never die, not because he protected himself with ancient evil curses, or fabulous forgotten elixirs but merely through the power of being seventeen. Young Sirius had been immortal, even as they'd taken him to Azkaban, even as the Death Eaters had threatened to rip his soul from his body.

They'd never managed it. Twelve years in Azkaban he'd survived on youth, hope and a burning desire for vengeful justice. Azkaban hadn't broken him.

His father's house had.

_And I dreamed I was flying_

He was beginning to drift off to sleep now. Certainly the memories were becoming more free-floating and his mind was fading out of the real world. He didn't dream of horrors, but instead of the good times. James completing a much-attempted 360 degree spin on a broomstick. Sirius trying the same, crying 'Look at me!' and promptly falling off.

The Quidditch matches, banners of bright red and gold, and he'd watched James racing round the court, heart in mouth…

(and later, in his seventh year, he'd brought his arithmancy notes to the match and spent the entire game crouched under the stands trying desperately to learn Thribbit's Law of Grammatica)

He'd liked flying, although he'd never been as good at it as Sirius and James. He'd enjoyed escaping from the world below to another place of light and beauty. The freedom it gave, the feeling of speed and exhilaration and even the slight terror of knowing that all that stood between you and a rather nasty death was a short pole with a few jinxes on it.

_And high up above my eyes could clearly see_

_The Statue of Liberty_

_Sailing away to sea_

Sirius had told him once in first year that if you flew high enough on a broom you could see the whole world stretched out like a map. He'd tried it one day, when James had been at Quidditch practise (with Peter in tow) and Sirius had been in the hospital wing. He'd gone up so high he'd started feeling dizzy, but to his disappointment the furthest he'd been able to see was the edge of the forbidden forest.

He'd told James, and James had laughed and told Sirius, who'd laughed even more.

'It was a just a joke Remus.'

He'd done that again in seventh year, flown as high as he possibly could just to watch Hogwarts and all the troubles associated with it fade away into a small model castle. He'd stayed up until he'd almost frozen to death and come down, teeth chattering uncontrollably, to find they hadn't even noticed he'd gone.

There was another crash from the downstairs lodger but Remus didn't notice it. His body had finally slipped into sleep, filled with the memories of a young boy and his friends in a world that seemed too far away.

On his bedside table, the coffee slowly turned cold.

_And I dreamed I was flying__**…**_


End file.
